Wings? I glance around and then notice that everyone is grabbing the drapes next to them. They’re wings?
“And stretch forward…” Amee bends forward, still holding on to the drapes, curling her body into a C shape. “And walk around and stretch backward…” Now, Amee bends backward.
I feel like a fool, but at least I can kind of keep up.
“And now, it’s time to be airborne, ladies! Step up into your cradle…” Amee puts one bare pointed toe onto the knot of the drape and steps up in one easy, fluid movement, as do almost all the other ladies in class. I stick my foot onto my green silk knot, which hangs at least three feet off the ground—more, even—and try to heave myself up. I realize instantly the folly of having had bacon right before this damn exercise: my hands might as well have a thick coating of Crisco. I can’t hold on to the damn fabric to save my life. It’s silky, my hands are greasy, and the combination is going to land me in an ambulance, on the hook for a $950 co-pay. It takes me four tries, but I finally get enough leverage to hoist myself up.
“Kick out that leg, ladies, point that toe!” Amee barks at us. “Hook your arms into your silk lines!” The instructor wraps her arms into each drape, so that the fabric is beneath her armpits, and then she does a scissor kick, her legs in near splits. “Fly, ladies! Fly!”
I can’t get enough leverage to hoist myself up by my armpits, and instead, my arm just gets tangled in the fabric and I start twisting around in a circle. I am holding on for dear life, though the entire silky drape has become lubed with bacon fat. Meanwhile, Mom and Nami are flipping and twisting around like some kind of mother–daughter circus act. I, however, am just a circus. This continues on for half an hour,and for every move I’m three steps behind and look like a fool.
Then Amee does a twist and a roll, and we’re all hanging backward, heads dipping low, feet supposed to be working as anchors, except that I’m too tangled to quite make the maneuver, and so I end up flopping backward off the knot, missing the hard wooden floor by mere inches, as I’m now tangled at the knees, arms dragging the floor. The blood rushes to my head. I reach up to try to save myself, but my hands are too slick, or the drape is too slippery—whatever the case, I can’t get a handhold and I’m stuck. It’s just a matter of time before I flop out of this headfirst on the floor below. All I can think is: I’m going to die right here.Sora Reid loved bacon and tequila. Pork distributors across the nation mourn her loss. Her estate is suing aerial aerobics for being the most ridiculous exercise trend since pole-dancing.
Amee sees me and frowns, hopping down off her drape to come and save me. It takes a lot of grunting and groaning before she’s able to get me back into a sitting position in the knotted drapes, and so now I’m sitting there like a kid on a swing.
“There,” Amee grunts. “Now, we’re going to open our hearts and head into our cocoon. Let the silk line expand and envelope you into its silk bosom.”
Silk bosom? I look over and see every woman in the class spreading one half of the drape and easing into it, wrapping it around their entire body and disappearing inside as if it’s a kind of upright hammock. This might not be so bad. I might be able to take a nap. I spread open the drape and lean in, wondering if the thin, silky fabric can actually hold me and disappear into it, but kind of side-flop into it, so my face is pressed against the hammock. Not my best angle. I scramble up andmanage to get into the fetal position, but the fabric is squeezing me into a ball.
“Now, deep breath in, and then… let it out… relax. You deserve this peace. Think of it like you’re back in your mother’s womb…”
I realize my actual mother is swinging in a slow circle in her drape cocoon next to me. This is just weird. That’s all I’m saying.
I’m squished in like a fetus two weeks after its due date, and my armandleg are falling asleep. I just want to get out of here and go home.
“Now, ladies, we’re all done! Go ahead and hop down from your silks.”
Hallelujah. I make a move to exit, but with my right side essentially numb, I struggle and fail to extricate myself from the Curtains from Hell. Through the little slit in my cocoon, I can see the other ladies have had no trouble freeing themselves. I’m just a big green blob slowly circling.
“What are you doing?” I hear my sister, but don’t see her. She’s somewhere behind me.
“Get out of there,” Mom adds. “I know you’re pouting. If you would just do the keto diet with me, you wouldn’t have this problem.”
“I’m not pouting. I’m stuck.” Also, this has nothing to do with dieting. I reach out with my working hand and wave. It’s palm up, so I can’t grab anything. I’m facedown in the cocoon. “My leg is asleep. So is my arm.”
“Getoutof there. You’re embarrassing us.” Mom again, voice low. Mom reaches in and tries to grab me, but it just causes me to spin faster. “This is ridiculous,” she says. “Come on out!”
I flounder some more. “I can’t!”
“What’s the problem here?” Amee asks, voice a tad concerned. That’s right, sister. Better check on the status of that liability insurance.
“I’m stuck.” I wave my hand again. Amee grabs it, and tugs. Nothing. I’m caught in a slow, humiliating death spiral. Nami helps her, and before I know it I’ve fallen out, awkwardly, on my left leg. My ankle twists at a weird angle. “Ow.” It doesn’t feel good.
“Are you all right?” Amee asks, face pinched.
“I’m not sure,” I manage, as I try to stand, but pain shoots up my leg and I can’t put any pressure on my foot.
“You might need to go see a doctor. Get that X-rayed.” Nami looks worried. She’s not pissed at me anymore, so that’s good? Still, all I can think of is my crappy insurance with the $12,000 deductible. And who knows how much an X-ray costs, $5,000?
“Chicago Med is right next door,” Mom suggests, referring to one of Chicago’s smaller hospitals. It’s not a big trauma center, but then again, it’s going to cost way more than just urgent care. “Why don’t we stop in there?”
“An ER?” I gasp. “Are you trying to bankrupt me? Isn’t there a pharmacy quick clinic around here?” I’m hopeful. Even though I know they’re really just a glorified school nurse. “I’m feeling better,” I say, but I still can’t put any weight on my ankle. I’m hopping on one foot.
“I’ll take you over. Now,” Mom says. Nami loops her arm under mine to help me walk.
“So, you’re not mad at me about not bringing a date to your wedding?” I finally ask, as we walk together out the door.
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m still pissed about that,” she says.
